Chapter 3

The cottage door creaked open, revealing sunlight flooding what was meant to be my exile but felt like an unexpected gift. Jean's attempt to banish me had spectacularly backfired, her displeasure transformed into my private sanctuary.

"Well, this is a surprise," I whispered, dragging my suitcase inside, the wheels catching on the wooden threshold.

The interior charmed me—rustic yet elegant, with fairy lights and greenery adorning walls. White drapery framed forest views, filtering afternoon light across the polished floor. A modest living room with a reading nook connected to a kitchenette. A cozy bedroom with bathroom waited nearby, complete with a four-poster bed draped in white linens. Everything I needed existed here, minimizing encounters with Jean's contempt.

My fingers traced the wooden countertop as an odd feeling settled over me. Though on my father's property, this space felt mine—a sanctuary from both Jean and everything I'd left in Alabama. The cottage nestled against the Ken jungle carried a strange resonance that eased my anxiety, as if the walls welcomed me in a way the main house never had.

"Not bad at all," I murmured, moving my bags to the bedroom.

Mom's voice echoed: "Always unpack the bedroom first, Lina. No matter how chaotic life gets, you need one finished sanctuary." The memory brought comfort and longing. Was she resting now, fighting her battle thousands of miles away?

As I arranged clothes in the pine dresser, Kennedy messaged: 'Come to the main house. I'd like to speak with you.'

Of course he wanted to see me now, despite ignoring my airport arrival. Sighing, I straightened my blouse and headed up the stone path through gardens vibrant with exotic blooms.

Jean materialized in the kitchen instantly. "There you are. Took you long enough," she said with an exaggerated sigh, checking her watch. "Hurry up. Kennedy doesn't have all day."

Her attitude confirmed my suspicions—she wouldn't make my stay easy. The animosity seemed disproportionate, but Alabama had taught me resilience.

Following her through corridors lined with artwork, we stopped at an imposing white door. She instructed condescendingly, "Always knock before entering. Kennedy values his privacy."

"Got it," I replied flatly, knocking while maintaining eye contact. When Kennedy responded, I flashed Jean a smug smile before entering.

Kennedy's office breathed quiet power—mahogany shelves lined with books, large windows overlooking manicured grounds. He rose from behind his desk, his face brightening.

"Lina! My goodness, you've grown," he said, moving with open arms.

"It's been two years," I reminded him, accepting his awkward embrace. Our bodies remained stiff, uncomfortable with forced intimacy.

"I hope you've found your accommodations satisfactory," he said, gesturing me to sit. "We felt you'd prefer your own space now, away from the... activity surrounding the main house."

I nodded. "The cottage is very—"

"You," he finished, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Yes, exactly." I crossed my legs. "You weren't at the airport," I added, unable to hide my accusation.

Kennedy explained about critical negotiations. When I mentioned Carl and Ara's reception, he relaxed at my diplomatic "welcoming enough" assessment.

"Ara, Devin and Barry also work at FaunaSphere, but Carl helps with company affairs," he explained. "The boys have been with us for years—practically family."

"Come, I have something for you," Kennedy said, leading me to the underground garage where vehicles gleamed under recessed lighting.

He stopped before a midnight blue sedan. Keys dangled from his fingers, a small jaguar keychain glinting silver.

"You got me a car?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes. You're going to change the world, Lina. I have faith in you, and while I wasn't there before, your presence marks a new beginning for both of us."

His unexpected sentiment brought tears to my eyes. We shared a hug as I whispered, "Thank you."

I wasn't ready to believe he'd transformed completely, but I'd give him a chance. The keys in my palm felt like possibility.

"I'm looking forward to creating actual memories," I said, surprised by my sincerity.

"We will," he promised. "Tonight's family dinner at seven. Jean's preparing her specialty."

Back at my cottage, I resumed unpacking, hanging clothes in the cedar-scented closet. Late afternoon sun slanted through windows, casting golden rectangles across the floor. I contemplated the coming months at FaunaSphere—professional opportunity amid personal complications.

I arranged my books alphabetically, these trusted companions through past transitions. With hours remaining before dinner, restlessness crept into my bones. The Ken jungle beckoned from my window, its dense foliage whispering promises of solitude.

On impulse, I slipped on comfortable shoes and a light jacket. A short walk might clear my head before facing the evening's social battlefield.

The path into the jungle was barely visible—a narrow trail winding between ancient trees with massive trunks. Afternoon light filtered through the canopy in scattered beams. Birds called overhead in unfamiliar melodies as I ventured deeper, drawn by an inexplicable pull.

The air felt different here—heavier, charged with something I couldn't name. Scents of earth, vegetation, and something sweeter filled my lungs. I trailed my fingers along rough bark and soft moss, savoring textures so different from Alabama's forests.

"Just a quick look around," I promised myself, though each step carried me further, the cottage soon lost from view.

The jungle's sounds enveloped me—leaves rustling, water trickling, birds calling. Then, a different sound cut through. Something moving through undergrowth—not gentle movement, but deliberate. Purposeful.

I froze, my heart hammering. The rustling stopped, then started again, closer now. Branches cracked softly to my left.

"Hello?" I called, my voice sounding small in the vast green space.

The jungle went eerily quiet. Even the birds ceased their calls. I turned slowly, scanning the vegetation, suddenly aware of how far I'd wandered from safety.

A flash of movement between trees caught my eye—too quick to identify. Then another, circling behind me. My mouth went dry as I pivoted, trying to track the movement.

Then I saw them—golden eyes gleaming between dark leaves, fixed unmistakably on me. Not animal eyes, at least not any I recognized. Too knowing, too intelligent. They blinked once, luminous and mesmerizing, seeming to peer directly into my soul.

Fear shot through me like electricity. I stumbled backward, nearly tripping over a root. The eyes remained steady, watching. Assessing. Their gaze felt ancient, patient—and hungry.

I didn't wait to learn more. Turning, I ran blindly through the undergrowth, no longer caring about direction. Branches whipped my face as panic propelled me forward. My breath came in sharp gasps, my heartbeat drowning out whatever might be following.

By some miracle, I burst from the jungle's edge, recognizing my cottage through the trees. I didn't slow until I reached the door, fumbling with trembling hands to unlock it. Once inside, I slammed it shut, turning the deadbolt before leaning against the wood as my legs threatened to give way.

Through the window, I stared at the dark tree line, half-expecting those golden eyes to emerge. Nothing moved but the gentle sway of leaves, yet I couldn't shake the certainty that I was still being watched.

What had I seen? Those eyes hadn't belonged to any animal I knew. Their gaze held awareness, intention—almost recognition, as if they'd been waiting specifically for me.

I sank into a chair, unable to shake the feeling that something in the jungle had been expecting me. The Ken forest held secrets, darker and more immediate than I'd imagined, and I'd just had my first encounter with whatever mysteries lurked in its depths.